


Ghost Stories

by irisbleufic



Series: Delicate, Dangerous, Obsessed [29]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Crimes & Criminals, Established Relationship, F/M, Ghosts, Hallucinations, Haunted Houses, Houses Remember Things, M/M, Multi, Multiple Voices, Murder Husbands, Or Actually Very Reliable, Or Not Really Ghosts, Or Not Really Hallucinations, POV Edward Nygma, POV Gabe (Gotham), POV Ivy Pepper, POV Oswald Cobblepot, POV Outsider, Paranoia, Paranormal, Psychopaths In Love, Spooky, Unreliable Narrator, Unsettling, Wistful, You Decide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2017-10-13
Packaged: 2019-01-16 17:45:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12347526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irisbleufic/pseuds/irisbleufic
Summary: Edward looked up from his pages upon pages, puzzled to see a night-capped figure in white with a candle in its hand.  He sized up the intruder, pondering what his subconscious was on about.“I would've expected you to turn up dressed like your portrait,” he commented.  “Pajamas?  Rude.”[Falls in series sequence, but quite readable as a one-off.  'Tis the season for tricks of the light.  And for treats.]





	Ghost Stories

**Shatter**

Splintering glass startled Oswald from sleep. His first thought was for Edward, wherever he might be.

He sat bolt upright, struggling to regain composure as he took in his surroundings. The entirety of the room, cast in erratic firelight and shadow, was empty. Edward had likely fallen asleep at his desk in the lab, in the same fashion as Oswald had fallen asleep over that day's renovation report.

Embarrassing, to all but trip over his shoes on his way to investigate the source of the sound. Nerves jangling with the next roll of thunder, with the patter of windowpanes under siege, Oswald knelt next to the object that had fallen off the side table.

Fortunate, that it had been _his_ certificate to fall, and not—

Lightning flashed, lancing across the ruined surface of the frame he clutched in his trembling hands.

Oswald swallowed, his heart-rate kicking up another notch. The muffled groan of a door-hinge reverberating through the wall shouldn't have been surprising. Odds were on Edward or Olga.

That didn't stop the flash of movement in his peripheral vision from causing him to shout in surprise.

“Oswald,” said Edward, sleepily, bending to take hold of Oswald's shoulders. “What happened?”

“You were upstairs?” said Oswald, shakily, relinquishing the shattered frame as Edward coaxed it from his grasp. “You were _asleep_? At this hour? I don't understand how you...”

Edward set the damaged frame aside on the sofa, and then bent to help Oswald to his feet. He steered them away from the residual mess on the floor, endearingly rumpled in his bathrobe and glasses.

“I heard you gasp on my way downstairs,” he clarified, inspecting Oswald's palms with clinical, yet tender concern. “The heating hasn't kicked in. I wanted you to come join me.”

“I'm very tired,” said Oswald, sagging as he reveled in Edward's embrace. “Olga will clean it up.”

Edward set his cheek against Oswald's damp temple. “You can hear the rain just as well from bed.”

Squinting, Oswald sought his father's portrait in its new, unaccustomed location as Edward led him.

 _You haven't been replaced_ , he thought, clinging to Edward's hand. _Neither of you._

 

**Sneak**

If not for Selina hauling Ivy and Bridgit through the window one after the other, they might both have fallen off the goddamn eaves. Suddenly, that word in conjunction with _dropping_ made sense.

The trouble was, they weren't alone in the spare bedroom full of Edward's awesome shit. _Oops_.

Ivy stuck her hands in the air, making big, apologetic eyes at the armed co-worker that awaited them.

“Aw,” said Sveta, pointing the shotgun right at Selina’s nose. “If it isn’t the teenage dirtbags. Cute, how they’ve gotta kick you out of your place for a few hours while they carry out inspections. Is this what you do keep occupied?”

“Sometimes,” said Ivy, shrugging. She walked past Selina with her fingers wrapped around the amphora at her throat, sizing Sveta up. She was pleased to see the young woman’s eyes dart nervously this way and that, tracking Ivy’s progress in a half-circle around her. “Gives us, uh, what’s it called?” Ivy went on, twirling a strand of her hair with mock-innocence. “Plausible deniability?”

“Does your aunt know you’re playin’ with that?” asked Selina, wrapping one fingerless-gloved hand around the barrel, angling it away from her face. “Pengs told you not to shoot us. Don’t play dumb.”

“It was Nygma, actually,” Sveta said, standing down, propping the gun over her shoulder. “So are you gonna let me in on what you do while you’re here so I can just mind my own biz, or whatever?”

Bridgit, grinning widely, threw open Edward’s wardrobe. “You could pinch the jacket this time,” she said, fluttering her eyelashes enticingly at Ivy, not doing all that great a job. “This thing and the pants combined could blind our enemies before I even had the chance to torch 'em.”

“She appreciates the thought,” said Selina, patting Bridgit on the shoulders, “but you’re too butch for that. Stick with the angsty smoldering.”

“Ed's precious when Pengy's got him loved-up,” Ivy explained, slipping into the jacket. “Enjoy it while it lasts.”

“ _Pffft_ ,” Selina scoffed. “He's a kept nerd with a half-assed villainsona. No wonder he drove the GCPD bonkers.”

“Seeing as he helps pay our bills,” said Bridgit, studying her reflection as she tried on Edward's bowler, “I'm staying outta this.”

“Aside from the world's most pointless game of dress-up while the bosses do inventory,” asked Sveta, “why are you _here_?”

“Oh, that,” said Ivy, brightly, deciding she'd let the jacket hang open. “Our fridge is lookin' kinda bare, if you know what I mean.”

“You guys are _so_ lucky you're on the approved care-and-feeding list,” Sveta grumbled. “Follow me. No funny business.”

Just as Ivy sauntered in the direction of the door, something conspicuously went _thump_ in the master bedroom up the hall. At least she _thought_ that was where it had come from.

They all froze except for Sveta, who swung the gun down into firing position with terrifying precision.

“Okay, kids,” she hissed between clenched teeth. “I was alone in the house until you jokers showed up. What the _fuck_ was that?”

“Gabe says the place is haunted,” said Ivy, clinging to Bridgit while Selina flicked out her knife, “but Ed says there's no such thing as—”

“I ain't afraid of no ghosts,” Selina muttered, yanking Sveta forward by the elbow. “C'mon, _pardner_. Let's go in there and take a look.”

Ivy held her breath while the other two were gone, counting the seconds until they came back down the hall with weapons hanging at their sides. Both of them looked disquietingly subdued.

“Well,” said Bridgit, loosening her hold on Ivy, sounding like she wished she had her blowtorch. “What happened? Did something fall over?”

“Nothing,” said Selina, pocketing her switchblade, beckoning them. “C'mon. Me an' Bellson here are gonna make you scaredy-cats some grub.”

“Like she says,” Sveta echoed dourly, stepping aside with Selina so that Ivy and Bridgit could bee-line for the stairs. “Everything's in order.”

Ivy kept a protective arm around Bridgit's shoulders as they made their way down the staircase with the other two lagging behind. The house had never seemed this threatening before, and they'd been alone in it plenty of times before after dusk. The old photographs and everything were creepy, sure, but Olga kept the place dust-free from top to bottom. It wasn't even _musty_ like their place.

“The stool at Oswald's vanity,” Sveta hissed to Selina, almost too furtively for Ivy to hear. “Something knocked it over. I was in that room dusting half an hour ago. The stool was fine.”

“We're tactfully not gonna mention that,” muttered Selina, backed by the sound of her thwacking Sveta's arm. “Who wants homemade pizza? _Mmm_!”

 

**Shudder**

Night shifts when boss was at his most paranoid, now. Those were, without question, the _worst_.

Gabriel shifted his stance on the gravel, displeased that Zsasz had gotten bored enough to start walking laps around the mansion's perimeter. It was creepy enough being inside the place alone for short intervals, but _outside_ it? In the blustery, rain-riddled _dark_? Yeah, no thanks.

Being caught pacing nervously back and forth in the driveway wasn't his finest moment. That was something Caroline did when she was jonesing for a smoke or about to lose her shit at Nygma, not—

“Hey, buddy,” said Zsasz, laying a hand on Gabriel's arm, halting him. “Jump a mile, why doncha.”

“Have fun on your stroll, Vic?” Gabriel retorted, shaking him off. “Where's Vee and the wife tonight?”

“Boss gave 'em the evening off for good behavior,” Zsasz replied. “And by _behavior_ , I mean _aim_.” He mimed a gunshot to Gabriel's head, but didn't elaborate on the incident to which Gabriel was beginning to suspect he had _not_ been privy. “Hey, wanna come with me a sec?”

“Only if you found somethin' suspicious,” said Gabriel, following Zsasz with trepidation. “Did ya?”

“Just so we're clear on this, and so you don't freak out,” Zsasz said, casually unholstering one of his guns, “boss sent Olga and the niece home tonight, too. That usually means they want privacy, right? But he keeps us on for security, seeing as they'll be in no shape to come running if—”

“Yeah yeah, get to the point,” Gabriel sighed as they approached the annex off the back. The servants' quarters were semi-detached, and even though Olga stayed in them once in a while, she'd preferred to maintain her own residence. He was grateful for that. _Infinitely_ grateful, because the thought of occasionally getting some under Penguin's roof gave him the creeps. Olga seemed to agree.

Zsasz pointed with his gun, indicating one of the curtain-draped windows. A candle flickered in it.

“You've gotta be shitting me,” Gabriel said, unable to think. “Boss would never...unless it's Ed who...”

“They're not in there,” said Zsasz, quietly, stalking away so fast that Gabriel stumbled in an attempt to keep up. “Lights in the master bedroom, remember? Enough noise you sometimes hear it out here?”

“Jesus,” Gabriel said, breaking into a run, not even caring he'd left Zsasz behind. “Jesus _fuck_.”

 

**Seek**

“This is the worst idea,” Vee told Caroline, stalking after her through the dew-slicked, dawn-defrosted grass. “You know that, right? Like, okay—it was weird enough to get to Vic, but you know Gabe. He goes ballistic about _everything_. I bet the niece left one of those electric candles on.”

“The day boss lets one of those tack-mo things in the house, I drop dead,” said Caroline, fishing the set of keys with which each of them had been entrusted out of her pocket. She studied the servants' quarters as they were now, dark and quiet. “We're the morning shift, jerk. Job's a job.”

“I hate you, too, honey,” Vee sneered, drawing her gun to cover them. “I swear to fuckin'—”

“Shut up,” Caroline hissed, turning the key in the lock. “You know bullets don't work on zombies or whatever the hell's in there, right? Which, oh, by the way—there's no such thing!”

“Lucky you never met my abuela,” Vee muttered, following Caroline into the cramped, shadowy room.

There was a bed, a credenza, and a wardrobe. A chest of drawers with flaked paint and a lace runner.

“Put a candle in the window,” said Caroline, softly, frozen where she stood. “And a kiss upon his lips.”

 _As the dish outside the window fills with rain_. The whisper Vee imagined belonged to Edward.

She regarded the burnt-out tallow stub in its antique candlestick. She used the barrel of her gun to lift back the intricate lace. She couldn't shake it. Stories upon stories, just a _hunch_ —

Caroline stared at the initials scratched into the worn surface. “I ain't gonna be the one to tell boss.”

“Nobody's gonna tell him,” Vee replied, lowering the lace like a shroud. “ _Hashem yishmor_.”

 

**Settle**

Edward had been writing for hours. One missed dose wasn't the end of the world, he told himself. And he wrote, and he _wrote_. One missed dose, and a flood. Of words, words, _words_ —

Oswald had retired early, had fallen asleep fast after a long, moody day in which none of their retinue were forthcoming about the cause of their surliness. It hadn't been the best week. 

The inspection had gone well, as had the caching of several impressive acquisitions from Barbara and Tabitha. But Zsasz and the girls had intercepted some trade at the docks, merchandise vital to the club's grand-opening festivities, and there'd been an attempted robbery. Confusion, several of the opposition down, and a third-party intrusion gone as quickly as it had arrived.

Edward suspected the increasingly less and _less_ inept vigilante. And the issue nagged at him.

 _The cavalry's getting skittish_ , noted his reflection, faint, but not gone. _Someone's coming_.

Edward looked up from his pages upon pages, puzzled to see a night-capped figure in white with a candle in its hand. He sized up the intruder, pondering what his subconscious was on about.

“I would've expected you to turn up dressed like your portrait,” he commented. “Pajamas? Rude.”

“What else should I wear,” said the simulacrum of Elijah Van Dahl, “when the place to which I go—”

“Those initials in the servants' quarters, I found early on,” said Edward, curtly. “I had no interest in troubling Oswald with a painful reminder. If he ever stumbles across them on his own, then fine.”

“So it's not another secret you keep?” asked the—hallucination? _Apparition_? Same difference, Edward decided, yawning into his palm while the figure gaped at him. “Another album in the floorboards, only this time the memento belongs, by right, to my son?”

Edward rubbed at his temples, regretting the conversation already. “Why couldn't you just be a normal father-in-law and, I don't know, send flowers? I give them to _you_ all the time.”

“And to the love of my life,” said Elijah, flickering before Edward's widening eyes. “I am grateful.”

The manifestation vanished before Edward could even blink—in Edward's full, unfettered sight.

Gone, leaving a residual shimmer in the space where no hallucination had ever dared to wink out.

Methodically, Edward closed his notebook. He rose from his desk, taking his candle with him, and strode through the darkened entryway, past the demoted portrait, as fast as his feet could carry him.

He didn't stop moving until he'd cleared the staircase and shut the bedroom door behind him. 

Once he'd set the candle on the nightstand, he'd shed his clothes in a pile on the floor and crawled, trembling in awe, beneath the covers.

The lump beside him stirred, widening its warm cocoon, spooning Edward comfortingly until his racing pulse slowed.

“If you think I'm up for anything at this hour,” mumbled Oswald, tightening his hold, “you're wrong.”

Edward relaxed without complaint. Cradling Oswald's hand against his chest, he blew out the flame.


End file.
